


Acting the part

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Acting, Actors, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17656898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: vodka, purpleSome mutual assistance is required when Illya asks an actor for help.





	Acting the part

“You should have gone on the stage, Illya,” the actor said, watching Illya transform into the part he had to play for his next mission. Illya hadn’t told him much, just wanted a real actor to watch and judge.

The actor knew very little at all about him except that his job with U.N.C.L.E. was dangerous. Illya always preferred to let him talk _._ The friendship had developed when Illya had come backstage once, after a particularly active performance, to ask his advice about how to fall. Lots of people asked that kind of thing, but very few because they really needed to know.

“An actor’s life doesn’t pay well, though, does it?” Illya said.

“No, but however ill-paid, just to get work is better than not getting it. Hey! I haven’t told you, have I? – I got that TV part.”

“Congratulations. That’ll pay better, I assume?”

“Well, it’ll put my bank balance right for a few months, and it might get me other roles.”

“I’ll look out for it,” Illya promised. “Now I’d better go, or the Chief will have my hide.”

“Take care, Illya. Let me know how you get on.”

“I’ll be fine, but I’ve no idea how long I’ll be, so, expect me when you see me.” And he took his leave.

<><><> 

The TV show took off in a big way. The actor was busy filming or travelling the country to generate improved Neilson ratings. When they occasionally did get together, it had to be in the actor’s apartment because he was not only exhausted but he couldn’t go out without being mobbed by young women.

“The contract’s been extended but if it weren’t for the money, I’d give it up. It’s no way to live, Illya. I’m watched wherever I go. My wife hates it, my kids hate it. We never see each other.”

Illya was sympathetic. To be continually watched and in fear of attack was very trying.

“I’m doing a play during the break in filming,” the actor continued. “It’ll be better than a vacation; like having a proper meal instead of living on candy for weeks on end. _And_ I get to sleep in my own bed.”

“Here in New York? I might be away when it opens.”

“Come to a rehearsal then? I can trust you to tell me the truth afterwards, Illya.”

“The truth?”

“If it’s – no, if _I’m_ – still any good.”

Illya raised his eyebrows. “You will be.”

<><> 

Illya could see why the role might have appealed to his friend. It was very different from the popular image of his TV character. Not profoundly interested in his friend’s good looks, Illya was more interested in his acting and admired his friend’s ability. But he hadn’t relaxed into the role. He clearly wasn’t comfortable in it.

The star’s dressing room was spectacularly furnished with a large grey velvet sofa on which he was sitting. He greeted Illya with relief and said, “Look at these – are they awful?” He pointed at the purple cushions. “From the props department. Have some vodka. I got it specially.” He looked up as he poured. “Well?”

“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ think,” said Illya taking the glass.

The actor threw himself back. “I’ve become self-conscious, Illya. I can’t get into the part. This television role is in the way.” He sighed. “Playing the heart-throb role in a formulaic drama is not only monumentally dull, it’s stereotyping me. _And_ destroying my ability to act.”

“Nonsense. Perhaps you’re trying too hard to get away from that role. Why not bring some of him into it? I know some very charming villains – you’d be perfect for that.”

“You didn’t like it, then,” he said flatly, with all an actor’s insecurity.

“I didn’t say that – I’m saying it’s still a work in progress. You know how to make it your own, really. Now do it as if it were a matter of life and death.”

“That sounds heartfelt, Illya. Is that why you’re such a natural when you do it? Because it really matters?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“What about those charming villains – do they appreciate you?”

“If I do it well enough, they don’t even notice.”

“Ah, yes. Acting shouldn’t be obvious. You know, I was right, you’d be great on stage.”

“My whole life is an act,” said Illya. “One day I’d like to be real.”

<><><> 

The theatre was packed; every seat booked, as it had been throughout. Illya sat quietly reading the programme, hidden from the auditorium in a corner of the box. His companions were a mix of the actor’s friends and people his agent had invited. Illya, knowing no-one there, ignored them.

The programme notes were full of photographs of his friend in the starring role in television that had given him his big break. It naturally didn’t mention how troubled he was by it.

In the interval, Illya sat in the bar listening to conversations around him. Women, particularly, enthused about their idol even though disappointed not to see their handsome hero in his usual persona.

The second half generated a standing ovation, and chatter as the audience left the theatre. Illya made his way down to the dressing rooms where he had to wait for the crowd to leave before getting in to see his friend.

“Congratulations! It’s obviously been a great success,” he said, shaking hands with the actor.

“Because it’s good, or because of my celebrity status?”

“It’s good. You’re the perfect villain,” said Illya. “I told you, you could do it. Where did you get the idea for a foreign accent?”

“When you said make the villain charming, that reminded me of a tall French guy I overheard in the next box at the theatre – ages ago – talking to a bunch of hard men. They sounded like were plotting something – don’t know what. He was charismatic but _very_ frightening… My character isn’t French, of course, so I thought I’d use your accent, not his. Yours could come from anywhere.”

“Good grief,” said Illya.

<><><><> 


End file.
